


Never Again

by Wolfcry22



Series: Shame [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive John Winchester, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Dean Winchester, Angry John Winchester, Angry Sam Winchester, Angst with a Happy Ending, Awesome Dean Winchester, Dead Mary Winchester, Dean Winchester is Sam Winchester's Parent, Drunk John Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Dean Winchester, Emotionally Hurt Sam Winchester, Gen, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, John Winchester Bashing, John Winchester Being an Asshole, John Winchester Being an Idiot, Overprotective Dean Winchester, Protective Dean Winchester, Sad Dean Winchester, Sad Sam Winchester
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-04
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:41:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26280574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfcry22/pseuds/Wolfcry22
Summary: A peaceful night in watching a movie is broken up by John’s antics. When he goes too far and he lashes out at Sam, Dean won’t just sit by.
Series: Shame [8]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883236
Comments: 1
Kudos: 96





	1. Movie Night

**Author's Note:**

> This is another continuation for my Shame series. It is based off of Season 1 episode 2 of Shameless. I could see this happening in Supernatural between Dean, Sam, and John as it happened in the episode of Shameless between Frank, Ian, and Fiona. 
> 
> Warning for neglect/abuse, graphic depictions of violence, and potentially triggering themes.

“Dean!”

“I’m coming. I’m coming.”

Dean struggled under the two large paper bags that were crammed in both arms. One held a six pack of soda and the largest bag of Doritos that Dean could find at the 7/11. The other had some Oreos and a large bag of M&Ms. There were also some hoagies tucked at the bottom with enough meat to clog Dean’s arteries. Sam was insistent that his share have at least some sort of vegetable and Dean was too excited about this night to care. This was a very special night—at least as special as a motel screening of an HBO movie could be—and Dean wanted to leave nothing to chance.

He sat down on the end of his bed where Sam was already perched, feet swinging off the ground excitedly. Dean dropped the bags on the table that Sam had drug over in front of the bed so that they could sit on the bed facing the TV and not risk spilling anything on the beds. It would only be a few more days before their Dad was back and the last thing that they needed was John to find the remnants of a meal on his sheets.

“When does it start,” Dean asked, tearing the paper bag from the side so that he could have easier access to the delicacies within. He pulled out his foot long sub before handing Sam his respective hoagie.

Sam licked his lips as the smell of toasted bread and honey ham waved from the wrapped hoagie. It took him a moment to realize that his brother had spoken to him. “Oh, 8:30 I think.”

Dean craned his head back to look at the digital alarm clock between the two queen beds.

8:21

He had gotten back just in time. The latest Terminator wasn’t something that Dean would usually get excited for, but ever since he and Sam had marathoned a few at the last crummy motel, the offer of a newer movie on HBO was something that he could get behind. He had wanted to make it as though they were going to the theater with snacks and the best vantage point. It wasn’t exactly the same thing, but it was better than nothing.

“Excited,” Dean asked, jabbing his elbow into Sam’s ribs just as his brother took a massive bite of his hoagie.

Pieces of lettuce and a chunk of turkey fell from the back of the sub on the wrapper. Sam swallowed his massive mouthful, nearly choking on it. “Of course!”

Dean lived for the excited twinkle in Sam’s eyes. It seemed that recently that the light was starting to dim. He no longer got excited over the little things like stacking the small containers of creamers at diners or building forts with pillows and blankets between the two beds. Sam was 16 now. He was more interested in high school classes and even had been trying to talk to girls more. Dean could still see the snot nosed kid in there somewhere. It was just that a young man was emerging more and more now instead of a little kid.

“Good,” Dean declared, taking another bite of his sandwich. Flavors of tomatoes and Colby jack cheese seeped into his mouth, igniting his taste buds and taking him on a wonderful adventure. The bread was toasted just enough not to be burnt and the mayo was smeared evenly across both sides of the hoagie. This may not be the best meal that Dean had ever had but it was darn close.

The movie had just started when the door to the motel swung open. Sam swallowed his gulp of sandwich when he saw John stagger in, the front of his shirt drenched in blood as well as the lower half of his face. He reeked of desperation and alcohol, making his movements sluggish and cumbersome as he ambled around the room.

Dean took one look at Sam and noticed how uncomfortable he seemed. It didn’t take a genius to know how easily Sam could be embarrassed and that John was the one thing that embarrassed him the most, even if people weren’t there to his behavior. He would shut down and wouldn’t even open up to the likes of Dean. It used to be that it was Dean and Sam against the world. Now Dean was lucky if Sam told him how school was. Although, Sam was growing more stubborn and that often led to disagreements with their father more often then not.

“Is that my shirt?” Sam’s eyes narrowed in frustration. Dean had recently been able to hustle a little extra money then usual at the vocal bars and that had allowed them to buy a couple new articles of clothing that weren’t from secondhand stores. While Dean would’ve rather that money go towards food or better motels, he knew how desperately Sam wanted to fit in at whatever school they found themselves at that week. If clothes that didn’t have tears or stains made life a little easier for Sam, then Dean would do damn near anything to make that happen.

John looked down to the polo that Sam had worn the day prior. He shrugged as he started to rummage around their small kitchenette for more alcohol no doubt.

Sam scooted back on the bed and crawled around Dean even as Dean tried to grab his brother’s arm. “Sam,” he warned through clenched teeth.

Sam pushed him off, sliding from the bed and toward his father. Determination glowed in Sam’s normally complacent hazel eyes. His shoulders were braced back so that he could rise to his full height. “That’s my shirt,” Sam announced in an authoritative tone. 

John tentatively turned to regard Sam. His eyes were unfocused and it took a moment for them to finally rest on the son that was speaking to him. Shaggy hair clumped in sweat as he lumbered over to Sam and looked down on him, muscles rippling under the too tight t-shirt. It was then that Sam could tell that the blood had come from John’s nose, which seemed to be broken halfway down the base. Sam would’ve guessed it was some sort of bar fight since John hadn’t been out on a hunt. Although, Sam wasn’t about to ask.

“What did you say,” John growled. His stinking breath billowed into Sam’s face, carrying with it the sour tang of beer.

Sam wrinkled his nose and took a step back. “It’s nothing,” he mumbled. His heart skipped a beat when he caught sight of the malice in John’s eyes. The eldest hunter could be an asshole at the best of times, but Sam had never seen John eye him with this much hatred before. 

Dean could see the look too and pushed the table away from the bed. He needed to stop this before things escalated. 

Suddenly, John snapped his head down. A sickening crack echoed throughout the motel room. Time seemed to slow for Dean as he watched Sam stumble backwards with a hand clamped firmly over his nose while blood spurted out like a waterfall. Sam collapsed onto the floor on his back, head crunched forward and tears leaking from his eyes and clinging to his eyelashes. 

“Sam!” Dean rushed forward and came beside him. He rested a hand against the small of Sam’s back and helped prop him up. 

Pain blossomed across Sam’s face. However, Sam was more shocked than anything and that dulled the pain to bearable levels. He had been through plenty worse on hunts before. “D-Deadn,” he mumbled, blood making Sam’s voice sound helplessly congested.

“I’m here, Sammy.” Dean began to shrug off out the flannel that had been wearing and shoved it against Sam’s nose. Sam hissed and tried to pull away, but Dean tightened his grip on Sam and moved his hand out of the way so that Dean could clamp his own hand harshly against Sam’s nose to stem the flow of the bleeding at least for the time being. This certainly wasn’t the first nosebleed that Sam had received and likely wouldn’t be the last. This was just the first injury that had been a result of John’s hand. 

Warmth flowed against Dean’s fingers, drenching through the plaid fabric. A whimper rose from the back of Sam’s throat at the pressure Dean was placing on the appendage. “I know, I know,” Dean chided sympathetically. He tried not to let Sam know how much it hurt him to see his little brother in such pain. “I know it hurts. I’m going to try to make it better, but you’re not going to like that.”

Dean heard a snort from across the room. His head snapped up and locked with his father, who was standing propped against the counter watching his sons intently. Pure raw hatred rose inside of Dean, wrapping around him like a warm embrace. In this moment he wanted to lay into his father and let him know just how much of a fuckup he really was. However, none of that would do Sam any good.

“Leave, now,” Dean snarled venomously. 

John looked like he wanted to argue before thinking better of it. He started over to the door and left the motel room, feet dragging. When he finally left and closed the door behind him, Dean snapped out of him furious state and turned his attention back to his brother. 

Dean peeled the bandage away from Sam’s face and gingerly traced his finger along the bridge of Sam’s nose. Sam bucked away from Dean, a moan leaving his lips. “Deadn!”

“Sorry, kiddo.” Dean gritted his teeth together, seeing the way Sam’s nose craned more to the right than it had previously. The tenderness had told him what he feared. “I think it’s broken. I’m going to have to snap it back.”

Sam’s eyes widened in alarm. “Dno!”

“I don’t think you really have a choice in the matter, Sammy. I promise that it’ll just take a moment.” Dean set the shirt aside and brought both hands and hovered them over Sam’s nose. Although his hands were always very steady during a hunt whenever he chased down countless supernatural creatures, the thought of snapping his little brother’s nose back into place sent apprehension though his body. Willing his hands to calm, he rested each palm on either side of Sam’s cheeks to steady them.

Sam closed his eyes tightly. “I wond’t bind if id’s crooked.”

Dean gave a wiry grin. “I’m sure you will once the girls start flocking to you.” Dean craned his head from side to side in an effort to find the best vantage point where he could bring both sections of Sam’s nose together while causing his brother the least amount of pain.

“We’ll do it on three, alright?” Dean’s tongue swiped against his bottom lip, face sneering in concentration. “One.” He snapped his fingers upward, forcing Sam’s nose back into alignment. An equally loud pop echoed around the room and sent Sam whimpering and drawing his knees up to his chest in shock. Tears rolled down Sam’s cheeks and fell onto his shirt, mixing with the blood already dousing the front of his shirt.

“You lied,” Sam cried out with a grimace. “You said on three.”

Dean raised the shirt again and tucked it back around Sam’s nose. He then used two fingers to force Sam’s chin forward. “Clamp it tightly and don’t lean back. We’d rather have blood drip out then back into your stomach and throat. Trust me I’ve been on the receiving end of that.”

Sam closed his eyes tightly. His breathing was erratic while continual waves of pain pulsed through him. “What are you going to do?”

Dean blinked his eyes quickly. He hadn’t exactly thought of what his next step was going to be. Every part of him told him to stay where he was and take care of Sam, but his conscious wouldn’t allow him not to check on his father. He was probably out there somewhere wandering around, drunk out of his mind and probably a danger to himself and others. Dean had to find him before he got himself into even more trouble than he already had.

“Dean?”

He looked upon the puppy dog eyes of the kid he had practically raised since he was four. He had spent more time with Sam than anyone else and knew him better than anyone else. He had vowed to himself that he would always protect Sam even at the cost of his own life. That was the deal. It seemed that the world was constantly against them and Dean was often left to pick up the pieces. They had enough trouble without John adding to it.

Dean forced a smile and grabbed Sam’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. “I’ll be right back. Think you can manage here without me for a couple minutes?”

“I’m not a baby, Dean.” 

Although Dean was sure that Sam was pretending to make himself seem stoic and tough, which was often how Dean promoted himself. There was no doubt in Dean’s mind how resilient Sam could be. That didn’t mean that he believed him when he looked a moment away from confessing how much pain he was really in.

Dean lifted his hands in a show of surrender. “Okay, tough guy. I hear you.” He rose to his feet and patted Sam’s shoulder. “Keep that there. When I get back I’ll get you a fresh shirt and I’ll help clean you up. Don’t do anything until I get back, understand?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” muttered Sam with the shirt trembling in his grasp over his face. 

Dean shot Sam a timid smile and grasped his jacket—his father’s jacket that he had swiped from John’s duffle—and headed out of the room. He closed the door behind him and remembered to lock it just on the off chance he couldn’t find his father and the experienced hunter decided to finish what he started. Dean would be damned if he was going to allow John to hurt Sam anymore than he already had.

He wandered into the parking lot of the small New Hampshire motel. It wasn’t bitterly cold, but Dean could still see his breath that collected into faint clouds from his parted mouth with he exhaled. He rubbed his hands together to force warmth into them, attempting to ignore the dried blood—Sam’s blood—that was caked into his skin. It would take some serious scrubbing to rid himself of the stains.

“Dad,” Dean called, jogging forward with arms pumping at his sides. Lamp posts rose along the sidewalk to the rooms and were mostly burned out. Even so, Dean was able to deduce where his father may have gotten to. A few dollops of blood were speckled on the ground, leading to one of the rooms at the end of the motel.

Dean quickened his pace until he stopped at the last room to find that the door had been kicked in, the handle hanging limp. If someone caught them then they would be kicked out of there in no time. It would be beyond difficult to explain the weapons, blood, and fake IDs. They had done well disguising themselves thus far and Dean didn’t want anything to jeopardize that.

He pushed the door open slowly, hearing the creak of the hinges give away his position. He suddenly wished he had brought some sort of weapon other than the knife he always kept tucked in his pocket. It wouldn’t serve much good if the person who was squatting in here wasn’t his father and had weapons of his own. 

The sound of water running nearly had Dean jumping out of his skin. His fingers trailed along the hilt of his hunting knife, ready in case of attack. He crept over to the small motel bathroom to find John with Sam’s shirt submerged under the steady stream that ran from the faucet. His thumbs rubbed over the fibers, attempting to force the blood from it. His face was still caked in dried blood and brow knit together in concentration; all his attention was on cleaning Sam’s shirt.

Dean leaned against the doorway as he watched his father hunched over the sink. Neither spoke, although Dean assumed that his father knew he was standing there.

After a few more minutes, John straightened and looked back over his shoulder to Dean. Their gazes met. Dean set his jaw in determination, daring his father to say something.

John looked down and away from Dean. His focused lingered on continuing to clean the shirt, the water turning pink after running through the shirt. 

“Don’t you ever hit my kid again,” Dean told John forcefully, allowing each word to sink in. He didn’t want to have to repeat himself. 

John raised an eyebrow, turning to face Dean once more. “Your kid? He’s mine—“

“Never again,” interrupted Dean. He fought to keep his voice calm even though each moment he stayed in his father’s presence made hostility rush through his veins and pool like bile in his stomach.

John rolled his eyes as he rubbed his shoulder against the underside of his nose.

That was enough for Dean. He launched himself forward and slammed a hand on the edge of the sink. The jolt traveled through his fingers and radiated up his arm. “If I ever catch you doing anything like that ever again to Sam, I swear I will throw your fucking ass out of our lives so quick it’ll make your head spin. Have I made myself perfectly clear?”

John had rarely seen this side of his son. Sam was always the one that he regularly clashed with. It took a lot to pull this sort of reaction from his eldest. Even so, he knew a serious Dean when he saw one and this wasn’t someone he wanted to mess with. 

“Crystal,” John grunted.

Dean drew back, narrowing his eyes to forgiving slits. “Don’t even think of coming back tonight.”

“Where am I supposed to stay,” John asked bluntly.

Dean shrugged. “Don’t care as long as it’s away from us.” He reached forward swiftly and grabbed Sam’s shirt from the sink. The blood had mostly been rinsed from it, but Dean trusted himself more to clean it up than his father in his drunken mind. At least he could try to make things up to Sam this way. There was no doubt in his mind that his father would just mess things up even more than he already had if he allowed him back into the motel room.

He left his father and the motel room behind him. He couldn’t care less what his father would do or where he would go. The only thing he cared about right now was Sam.


	2. Be Like Him

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John may be out of the motel for the night, but thoughts about the situation are far from Sam’s and Dean’s mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part is going to be a little more emotional between Sam and Dean. Although both aren’t huge on those moments, it’s sometimes important for the levee to break and conversations to be had without John there to contaminate them or butt in. Thank you to everyone that has read this story, left kudos, and comments. It means the world to me when I see it and I hope you all like this part just as much as the first one!

Dean jogged back through the slippery motel parking lot. His nose and fingertips were beginning to grow beat red and stiff from the now frigid temperature. He picked up the pace, only slowing when he reached the room to their motel room. He swung it open and found Sam just where he had left him with Dean’s saturated shirt still clamped firmly around his nose. Dean couldn’t tell if it was still bleeding without getting closer and he didn’t want to risk startling Sam, who appeared to be almost out of it with eyes vacant and locked on something past Dean by the window. 

“Sam?”

Sam jolted with his head snapping upwards once he heard the muted timbre of his brother’s voice. “Did you find him,” he questioned.

Dean kneeled down beside his Sam and tucked a free strand of dirty blonde hair behind his ear. “Yeah, I did.” Dean watched as Sam flinched at the thought. “But, he’s not coming back here anytime soon. That I can promise.”

Sam looked down onto his crimson hand. “I think it stopped bleeding,” he announced joyously.

Dean forced excitement into his own voice to keep his brother’s spirits up. “Really? That’s great, kiddo! Let’s just have a look and see.” He peeled back the flannel and was pleased to find that Sam appeared to be right. His nose was still caked in blood that ran down the bottom half of his face all the way to his upper lip and only his shirt, but fresh blood had stopped flowing from what Dean could see. “I think you’re good. I mean, as good as you can be with a broken nose.”

A shadowed look of shame shone on Sam’s face as he pivoted away from his brother’s touch. “Is it that noticeable?” 

Dean had noticed lately that Sam was checking himself out in the mirror and smoothing down his shirt before he left for school. Sam was growing up and was beginning to care more and more about his appearance and what other people, mainly females, thought of him. If this broken nose was going to make him an eyesore anymore than his lanky limbs and puppy dog eyes already did, then it was going to be something that Sam would learn to despise even more about himself. It also didn’t help that they were constantly moving around and that made Sam the new kid more times than not. Having something else that would make Sam feel inherently different wasn’t high on Dean’s list to do.

“No, not at all.” That was a lie, but what Sam didn’t know at the moment wouldn’t hurt him. Dean shifted closer to Sam on the ground of the crunchy carpet so that their shoulders almost touched. “It’ll look a hell of a lot better when the swelling goes down.” 

Sam blinked gratefully up at Dean through deep hazel eyes. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean clapped Sam on the shoulder. “Got something for you.” He reached around and produced the shirt he had taken from John. He threw it in Sam’s lap with Sam’s hands instantly reaching down and feeling the wet fibers against the pads of his fingers.

“How’d you get it from Dad,” Sam questioned, fingers continuing to rub up and down the hem of the shirt.

Dean shrugged. Sam didn’t need to know the whole story and what Dean had said to him. “I’m a man of great persuasion, Sammy.” He jumped to his feet and stretched out a hand back down. “I’ll throw it in the wash next time we stop. Until then let’s see if we can get that blood off of you.” 

Sam clapped his hand into Dean’s grasp, allowing his brother to haul him to his feet. Sam rocketed forward with a small jump, shaking out his hands in turn and throwing his shirt back on his bed. He followed Dean into the small bathroom without another word, only slowing when Dean sat him on the closed toilet seat so that he could have a better vantage point to clean him up. 

Dean turned on the faucet and allowed it to stream over a bandana he had tucked in the back of his pocket. He didn’t trust these motel facecloths enough to want them anywhere near his little brother. A grimy bandana in the back pocket of his jeans was much better in Dean’s opinion; at least he knew where they had been for the most part.

After the bandana had turned damp in his fingers, Dean wrung it out and came toward Sam. He hadn’t done this in nearly ten years when Sam had been young enough not to know how to blow his own nose or clean up his face after he ate. Dean recalled with a hint of spite that he had done this much more than his father did. In fact, he couldn’t remember John ever doing this for his youngest.

Dean started to wipe the undersides of Sam’s nose and peel the crusted blood from his face. Sam only allowed it for a few moments before lifting his hand and swiping it from his brother’s hands. “Dean, I can do it,” Sam complained with a scowl.

“Fine, fine. Let’s see how far you get,” Dean joked as he leaned against the sink with the faucet still running behind him. 

Sam took the bandana and attempted to touch either side of his nose. Pain stopped him dead in his tracks and made his hand come down, eyes blazing in uncomfortableness. He tried a few more times with little success. Frustration overwhelmed him, showing in the way that his left temple throbbed and right eye twitched upwards to Dean and then promptly fell to the ground.

Dean tried not to act smug when he saw Sam struggle. “Need help,” he asked playfully.

Sam crumpled the bandana and tossed it over to his brother. Dean caught it in a single grab and scooted away from the sink. He was quick about cleaning up the dried blood from around Sam’s nose while applying as little pressure as possible. The last thing he needed was to cause Sam anymore pain than John had already caused him. The fact that John had struck out against Sam to begin with turned Dean’s blood to ice in his veins. No one hurt Sam, least of all John on Dean’s watch.

Dean ran the bandana under the water a couple more times until he deemed that Sam’s face was clean enough for his liking. Dean threw the bandana in the sink and decided that it would be easier to throw it away than try and wash it. He didn’t want any reminders of this day other than knowing it would never happen again.

“Want to finish the movie,” Dean offered lamely once he had washed his hands and flicked the droplets of water from his hands.

Sam curled his lip at the suggestion. “We’ve already missed too much of it already. Can we watch something else?”

“Like one of your geeky science shows?”

“Jeopardy is not a geeky show. It’s informative.”

“Can we leave the SAT words until the morning?” 

“Informative is not an SAT word. It’s just a general knowledge word, Dean.”

Dean was more than resigned to the fact that Sam was smarter than he was, and was more than okay with that fact. It made him feel even a flicker of pride knowing that Sam could potentially make something of himself with just how smart he was. The thought bothered Dean if he paid too much attention to it, wondering about Sam leaving him to deal with his father alone. He knew that Sam couldn’t stay here safely and definitely wouldn’t reach his full potential if he stayed in this life any longer than he had to. Dean would do anything in his power to help Sam become whatever it is he wanted to be. There would be nothing holding him back—especially not John—Dean would certainly see to that.

“Alright, smartass. I’m going to finish my food and see what else is on. You going to be alright to take a shower?” Dean didn’t think that Sam had a concussion, but he hadn’t checked him over yet. The last thing either of them needed was Sam to pass out in the shower.

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean, I’m fine. You don’t have to be a mother hen over me,” he complained.

Dean pursed his lips, unable to say what he truly felt. He had been the one to look after Sam since their mother died. He had been the one to make sure that Sam was safe and taken care of. He had been the one to nurture him and sit with him through all the hell he had been through. John had been more of a hinderance than a help through all of this, and if Sam thought that Dean was a little too protective at times, so be it.

“I’ll leave you to it, Sammy.” Dean padded from the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He trekked back to his bed and heard the water running and beating against the mildew coated shower. He slipped around the table and took his hoagie from the wrapper. It had long since lost the warmth that he had found so enticing, but the gnawing hunger that pooled at the depths of his stomach told him not to object to it. He shoveled a couple mouthfuls in and licked his fingers of the mayo that had dripped out when he was trying to down the sandwich in as little bites as possible.

After he finished he flipped through the channels and finally settled on an Indiana Jones movie. That was as close to a science or history show that Dean was going to give Sam, especially since Sam was still in the shower. He could bitch and moan about it later. By that time Dean was expected to be asleep or close to it. In reality he was sure he would spend most of the night watching the door, waiting in case John attempted to force his way in even after Dean’s stern warning to stay away, for at least the rest of the night. If that meant staying up without Sam knowing and clutching the pistol that he kept under his pillow a little extra tight, so be it. 

Dean kicked off his jeans and threw on shorts while also pulling off his shirt over his head. He peeled back the sheets and scratchy comforter, falling onto his side and pulling the coverings up to his chin. Dean was exhausted from everything that went on this evening and he wanted nothing more than to sleep. However, the knots of tension that rippled in his back and shoulders told him that was a long shot.

Instead, Dean laid there with eyes open, staring at the vacant bed across from him. His warmth breath billowed gently against his curled arm under his head, sending the minute hairs standing on end. Dean’s mind continued to wander even as he attempted to focus it into something soothing. He was only left with the sight of John striking at Sam and hearing the crunch of broken bone that came from his little brother’s face. Recalling the scene that took place an hour ago only served to rile Dean up more until his feet were kicking and churning the blankets and fingers had clutched the pillow under his head for dear life.

It wasn’t until Sam strolled out of the shower that Dean stilled. Sam looked good to Dean—as good as someone could look after getting into a fight with their father. His hair was stuck in unruly tufts and he was wearing one of Dean’s old t-shirts. He seemed exhausted to Dean if the bags under his eyes and sluggish disposition was anything to off of. If there was one thing Sam exhibited usually, it was energy. Seeing Sam so lethargic and lackluster spoke volumes to how Sam was really feeling.

Sam cast one glance at the TV before sinking onto his bed. “Indiana Jones?”

“Good movies if you ask me,” Dean mumbled, pretending to be trying to fall asleep only to have Sam interrupt him.

Sam said nothing more while he crawled under the covers and turned onto his back and hands intertwined together and rested on his chest. The only sounds that could be heard in the dingy motel room was the low hum of the TV followed by the gunfire of the fire that the archeologist found himself in. 

Dean’s eyes were just beginning to flutter closed when he heard Sam’s voice in the semi-darkness.

“What are you afraid of?”

That question brought Dean out of any sleep he was hoping of catching. “What?”

“You heard me,” Sam replied in a hushed voice as though fearful of what Dean would say. “What are you afraid of?”

Dean rolled onto his back, sliding up so that he was propped up against a mound of pillows. “Let’s see......maybe being with some chick that ends up being a vampire or some shit. That would definitely be a mood killer.”

Sam rolled his eyes. Why did he ever think that Dean could take this seriously? “Dean, I’m serious,” Sam bemoaned.

Dean couldn’t help but grin. The look was quickly wiped from his face when he saw deep brown pools of liquid emotion locked on him, boring into his soul. There was no way that Dean could resist that.

“Shit, Sammy.” Dean ran his fingers through his spiky hair. “Um, let’s see. I guess the one thing that I’m afraid of is something happening to you.”

“Really? That’s what you’re afraid of?”

“Hey, you’re the one who asked me,” flashed Dean. Chick-flick moments were not his thing and this was making him step way out of his comfort zone. If you would ask Dean to track down a werewolf or kill down a vampire, he was absolutely fine. It was only when someone mentioned something happening to Sam that Dean’s anxiety went from a 1 to 10.

Sam pondered Dean’s answer for another couple moments. “I’m afraid of becoming Dad.”

Dean sat up in an instant, movie completely forgotten. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and turned on the small bedside lamp. The room filled with a dull white glow. It illuminated Sam’s face where a bruise had already showed on the bridge of his nose. 

“Why the hell would you say that,” Dean asked sharply.

Sam flinched, sitting up to face Dean with legs folded underneath him. He gave a tight shrug of his shoulders, head shaking. “I don’t know. I just see how he is and I always worry that I may become like him. What if I have the same anger inside of me?”

Dean jumped from his bed to Sam’s, sinking down beside his brother. He wrapped an arm around Sam. His sixteen year old brother attempted to wriggle free, but Dean’s grip was too tight. “You listen to me and you listen good,” Dean began fiercely, intensity washing over him. “You are nothing like him. If there’s someone that’s like him in this family it would be me. You, Sammy, are nothing like that piece of shit.”

“Then who am I like,” Sam whined.

“You are just like Mom.” Dean only had fragmented memories of her since most of the memories had been told to him instead of him pulling them from his own mind. Still, they were better than nothing. “You’re kind, compassionate, gentle, and logical. I certainly don’t have those attributes and Dad sure as hell doesn’t. The only time I’ve ever seen him gentle is when he talks to witnesses and even then he BSes it.”

Sam’s head swayed back and forth while he pondered Dean’s words. The logical part of his brain told him that he wasn’t like John. There was still a fear in Sam that he would turn out like his father who had messed up his kids and drank just to numb the grief of life. It bothered Sam that Dean would think of himself like John too. Sure, Dean still looked up to him in the same twisted obedience that he often felt for him. That didn’t mean that he was anything like him.

“Where did this come from,” Dean broke in softly.

Sam shrugged out of Dean’s half embrace. “I don’t know. I guess I just thought about when Dad hit me how much I wanted to knock him on his ass.”

“I would’ve paid to see that,” joked Dean, ruffling the hair on top of Sam’s head and sending droplets of water from the shower falling on the sheets. 

Sam pushed Dean back until his brother rolled onto his back on his bed. “Dean, this isn’t funny! I really wanted to knock his fucking teeth out or worse.” 

Dean sat back up once he swung his legs to give him a little more momentum. “Sam, that’s a completely normal reaction. He hurt you and your body’s goal in life is to protect you. It doesn’t mean you’re turning into Dad because you wanted to defend yourself. I’d be a lot more concerned after all of that if you didn’t want to fight back.”

“So, you really don’t think I’m anything like Dad?”

“No, Sammy. You are your own person and are going to be more of a man than Dad ever was. I know that he didn’t pass on his fucked up genes to you, at least not in anyway that would matter.” Dean nudged Sam’s shoulder with his own. “You feel a little better, kiddo?”

Sam gave a small nod. His eyes locked with Dean’s, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. They didn’t need words to convey what they felt. They were bonded as brothers and even closer than most because of what they had been through. It was something no other people would experience or be able to understand and that was fine. It didn’t have to make sense to everyone how Dean had practically raised Sam and felt a responsibility to continue the job with John MIA as a parent. Dean wasn’t annoyed by this idea and had grown to enjoy taking on the role as Sam’s parent. 

“Well, now that that’s over I need to fill my eyeballs with more than your stupid face,” Dean taunted, jumping to his bed before Sam could aim a swing at his head.

“Jerk,” Sam hissed under his breath, though his eyes were playful.

Dean flipped him off. “Bitch.”

The two brothers laughed as they settled down in their respective beds with the TV humming in the background. It only took a couple more minutes for Sam to fall asleep and filled the tight motel with soft snores. Dean couldn’t help but smile when he heard it. However, he was far from ready to sleep.

Dean sat up in bed and faced the door, fingers cascading over the bed and under his pillow, feeling the clip with a round of ten bullets within. While Dean wouldn’t actually shoot John if he came in, he would certainly give him a couple warning shots to let him know that he meant business. John knew what he did was wrong and that Dean wouldn’t tolerate behavior like that from him again.

Clutching the pistol close, Dean kept his gaze locked on the door. Protectiveness for his brother rose inside of him, overwhelming any other feelings that he had. He would do anything in his power to keep his brother safe and if that meant keeping John out of their lives, so be it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted this part to explore the dynamic of fear that Sam has of becoming like John. I think it’s a real fear with a lot of people with children of parents that are addicts or have mental illness that they can become like them. Dean reassuring him while also putting himself down a little is something I could see him doing in the show. I hope that was able to come across in the writing. Thank you all for reading and I hope you guys enjoyed this story and are staying safe and healthy!


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